Another one bites the dust

I don't know if here I'm talking about the one night stand a few weeks back or the first man I've met in this town in months who's been attractive to me. I mean really attractive. Let's take it one at a time.

After London I was thinking about a post slamming the sexual prowess of the Jewish American Male. On the occasion of said one night stand, I was bored even before I'd had an orgasm. It reminded me of my first fiance, the inimitable Herr Hyman (ha! I can't remember how he spells it, with an e or an a!). Then I remembered my friend in New York, so that kinda lost steam. Besides, who needs to add to that the frothy stew of hatemongering toward Jews in the climate I currently find myself?

But I do wonder how different a person I might be had things with the Herr worked out. I remember once him asking if I knew the meaning of my name in German. You know those early charged conversations, where a smile accompanies every word, where we look for opportunities to flirt? I responded by asking if he knew what his name meant in English. I have since learned a lot about the fragility of the male ego.

Last night my friend received a text message from a lover. It was clearly an intercept, intended for another. She wanted to reply, confront. Don't do it, I told her. Just ignore it and see what happens, that's the dignity-intact response. But she was eager to do something. If you must, I told her, make it a joke. If there's one thing a man cannot bear it's an angry woman. They will run. Or worse, placate.

Those are the ones that seem to stick for me, the placaters. Ugh. Which I suppose answers my initial question, I'm not different. Not really. How would I have responded in that situation? Would I have been able to even hear my gut response over the noise of the hurt?

Which brings me to the man I just met. Attraction is such a funny thing. Ha ha funny, as in, I think I looked cartoonish twisting and straining to follow him walking into the room. I couldn't really see him, it wasn't that. I just had this gut reaction to his presence. Yum. Still, I think before I even really saw him, I saw his name tag. and that name tag read, yes, "Jeff." Ha! My gut piped up, FORGET IT. But that was squashed in an INSTANT. I sat through an entire lecture hanging on his every word, trying to look a bit bored. Turning his explanation about a chart into a direct flirtation, aimed at me. He described something pumping and drew an up arrow, intersected that with another line then drew and retraced a circle talking about the "great spot." Um, isn't that usually the "sweet spot" on a chart? I can only think of one G-spot, and I wanted to drag him from the room and find it. OK, maybe a Stretch Armstrong doll wouldn't even move that far, but it was a fun lecture for me. I wanted to raise my hand and ask if he was willing to talk dirty. I watched his hands moving, and pictured them moving over me. He had beautiful hands.

Which reminds me, I did find another man insanely appealing, and just the other day, too. I went to a Spanish music presentation at the Intercon. The cellist was HOT. I enjoyed thinking about his hands too, and I didn't have to pretend I wasn't looking because there was loads of distance and that was never happening. This guy's moving here. But I may well be long gone.

And so what? I found myself telling my friend not to cast a bitter pall over the fun she's had with this fellow. Today's moments should not take away from yesterday's. I want to remember all the fun I had with Jeff, if and when I ever remember it, fondly. Same with Geoff. And Jeff I. We are only our moment. Trying to hang onto a good feeling will surely wrest the life from it. There may have been a time I'd try to find a business reason to contact this fellow, find out more. I would have fed more energy into it trying to recreate the good feeling. Then my feelings would be hurt. Possibly crushed.

For this moment, I am in a space where I am finding the joy or the happiness or the sadness only that. Moving on, forcing nothing.